With Ice In His Veins
by JuniperGentle
Summary: With a brand new sport hitting the headlines, representing your country in the finals is an honour few have gained. However, for some, being chosen by your country is rather more literal than for others...
1. Representative

You know, I'm really surprised no-one else has writen something about this yet... my first (sort-of) Hetalia fic, but I guess it's cheating as it's combined with Beyblade too. I own neither of them, anyway. Probably a good thing too. 

* * *

**With Ice In His Veins**

**Representative**

Not many knew the secret, he was told that almost as soon as they brought him inside. Even fewer had been granted the honour of a meeting. And even less had been _asked _to come for a meeting. All the same, the eight year old couldn't help but feel just a little bit disappointed.

He'd been expecting someone a little... well, _fiercer._

The man on the other side of the desk had short, lilac grey hair that reminded the boy of the last dregs of snow in the streets of Moscow, dirty and tired and feeble as the sun melted it away into the short summer. His long coat, dull brown-grey, wasn't much better. Thick, black, leather gloves, fingers steepled together, stood out vividly against the dull background as their owner set his elbows on the table to scrutinise the boy in front of him.

Worst of all, he was smiling. A big, sweet, summer-sun smile that filled his round face, but still somehow didn't manage to make the boy feel any better. In fact, it made him more nervous than ever. There was something profoundly wrong about the smile, but he couldn't for the life of him work out what it was.

"You speak Japanese very well." It was not a question. The boy drew himself up proudly.

"I'm mostly Japanese, sir, but I've lived here most of my life."

"You would count yourself as mine, then?" A short nod was the man's answer. "Good. I have heard you are a very good... what do they call it... beyblader?"

At this, the boy's face split into a huge, automatic smile. "Yes, sir."

"Is it fun?"

"Yes, sir..." Then the boy paused. It would be terrible to lie to this man of all people. "Most of the time. It's not so much fun any more."

A look of concern crossed the man's face, an expression that the boy wasn't familiar with. "Why is it not fun any more?"

The boy swallowed. "I had to go to a big place for special training. We don't do proper battles outside; we have to stay inside all the time and practice. That's boring. And if we get things wrong, the teachers don't like us, and that's not nice." He looked up into a pair of violet eyes so very like his own. "And it's cold in the place where we stay, sir. That's not nice either."

The man stood up very suddenly and came around the desk so quickly that the boy didn't have a chance to even see him move before he was right next to him. He knelt down so that he was looking into the child's eyes, and reached out to put a hand – so heavy, that hand! - on the boy's shoulder.

"Do you know why you are here, little one?" His smile was not quite so terrifying now, almost genuine.

A slow shake of the head. The boy knew where he was, of course, but none of his teachers had thought to tell him _why_ he had to go to this meeting with one of the most important people he would ever meet.

"You are here because you are young, and you are strong, and you are determined to win. You have been chosen, Kai Hiwatari. You will represent Russia one day, and you will win for Russia. For me."

"Win what?"

"The World Championships, of course. How better to show the world how great Russia still is than by ruling this new sport?"

The boy's – Kai's – eyes went wide with awe. _World Champion?_ _Him?_ He shivered as a thrill ran through him. It was every blader's dream to one day become the World Champion, and if this man with his tired grey hair and his dull khaki brown coat and his undeniable air of authority said that he, Kai, would represent Russia in the Beyblade World Championship finals, he would.

"Yes, sir!"

"Good," Russia said again, and his smile was once again fearsome. "It would have been very bad for you if you had said no."

Kai stayed very still, staring into the deep eyes of the country he had been brought up in. Something in his eight-year-old mind told him that this could easily be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and he was determined to memorise all of it.

"So you must win all of the battles to get to the top of the world champions leaderboard, mustn't you, Kai?"

"Yes, sir," Kai said automatically.

"You will fight for Russia, da?"

"Yes, sir."

Russia stood up very quickly and vanished back behind his desk. From the noise of it, he was opening a drawer and taking something out. All of a sudden, he was back in front of Kai.

"Here," he said. "Now you cannot forget."

The long piece of white material wrapped around Kai's throat several times, surprisingly loosely. Russia threw the two ends over the boy's shoulders and watched in dismay as the ends fell to trail on the floor. Unless it was wrapped around Kai's neck so many times that his neck would be as wide as his shoulders, the twin-tailed scarf would inevitably drag in the mud and the snow.

"Hmm…" said Russia, though his strange smile didn't leave his face. Then he put a hand in his pocket, pulled out a small folding knife and slashed down right in front of Kai's face. Startled, the boy leapt backwards, tripping as half of his new scarf fell to the ground, severed. Nearly falling, except that Russia caught his wrist with one of those black-gloved hands, so, so cold and strong.

"Stand up, Kai," the much taller man ordered. "You are Russian now." He reached behind Kai's head and swiftly knotted the scarf so that only a single tail trailed behind the eight-year-old. "See? Now your training will not be so cold."

Kai fingered the soft, white material wrapped around his throat. He hadn't felt anything so soft and fine since he'd arrived in the abbey. "Thank you, sir," he whispered, then drew himself up to his full height, trying to appear as imposing and grown-up as possible. "I will do my best to win, sir!"

"You will." The creepy smile was back again. "I will not be happy if you do not win, Kai."

Kai nodded very fast.

"You can go now." And the big Russian moved to sit back behind his desk, completely ignoring Kai in favour of a small carved dog in the centre of the table.

"Come," whispered a soft voice in Kai's ear. "Mr Russia is very busy."

Kai looked up into a pair of blue eyes framed by dark brown hair. "Who are you?"

A small smile. "I am Lithuania. I work for Mr Russia. Come on, I will take you to the car."

* * *

A/N - was Russia okay? It's really hard making him scary but not too scary for eight-year-old Kai!


	2. The Man Who Was Russia Part 1

**The Man Who Was Russia – Part 1**

"You want Kai Hiwatari? Who's calling?"

"This is for me to deal with, Tyson." Kai's voice was sharp as he strode out of the kitchen. "Go back to training."

"But Kai, it sounded like a government person! A Russian!"

"All the more reason for you to stick your nose _out_ of my business." Kai snatched the phone from Tyson's surprised grip and made a shooing motion with his other hand. Grumbling to himself, Tyson disappeared into the kitchen. Kai waited until he heard the wielder of Dragoon open the back door before setting the phone to his ear.

"Kai Hiwatari speaking," he said in Russian.

"_Mr Hiwatari, this is to inform you that you are required at the Special Offices. It is a very... private matter."_

He knew the code by now. "I understand. I would be honoured to meet with him."

"_We are to expect your full co-operation in this matter?"_

"Of course." He wasn't sure why they always asked this question, particularly as someone who wasn't going to fully co-operate would surely lie. But it seemed it was procedure, and so he went along with it. "I will need a week to arrange transport to Moscow."

"_That will not be necessary,"_ the official informed him. "_Transport and accommodation has already been organised. You are expected at the airport tomorrow morning for a seven am flight. A car will meet you in Moscow. Do not be late."_

"Understood." That, apparently, was all the signal that the official needed, as the phone at the other end clicked down.

Kai stood there staring at the wall for a long while, fingering the soft scarf wrapped around his neck. In his short lifetime he had received three calls, including that one, from the Special Offices in Moscow. All three times he had been required to come up to join them as soon as humanly possible, and normally sooner. And now here was this new call, meaning he would have to find some sort of excuse at dinner that night as to why he was going to be disappearing for some time. Or, alternatively, he could just disappear, which he was very good at. But it didn't quite feel right, abandoning the only friends he had in the world like that. After all, they had been very accepting of him after his return, and he felt like he owed them, in a way, especially as he would be heading back to the very country he had betrayed them for before.

Just then, Ray walked in through the door. "Hey, Kai," he smiled. "You gonna miss me?"

"What?"

"Oh, I'm off tonight, back home to my village."

"Really?"

Ray frowned. "I did tell you three days ago, Kai. Then again, you were fighting over the ketchup with Tyson at the time, so I guess you weren't paying much attention. Who was on the phone?"

Kai shrugged, as he quite honestly had no idea who the official was. "I'm going back to Russia."

"Now that really is the first I've heard of _that,"_ Ray commented, looking concerned. "Why? Is it... something to do with Boris and your grandfather?"

"In a way." That was all Kai was willing to say. "But I'm leaving early tomorrow."

"So it's just going to be Tyson and Kenny, then?" Ray gave a short sigh. "Ah well. After going all around the world together, maybe it's for the best that we all go back to our own countries for a while. I miss China."

Privately, Kai wondered what the representative of China looked like, but all he could come up with was an image of Ray, maybe wearing red just to make it luckier, with Driger looming behind him. It wasn't very convincing.

"Hmph."

.

Tyson was less easy to convince than Ray, to the extent that Kai was beginning to regret telling him at all. He seemed to be totally convinced that if Kai went anywhere near the land where he had grown up, he would be kidnapped by someone working for Boris and taken away for interrogation. Kai rubbed at his head and said nothing until Tyson ran out of things to say, which took a very long time.

"I will not be kidnapped by anyone working for Boris or my grandfather," he said at last. "If you must know, there's someone meeting me at the airport to take me to where I have to go."

"When'll you be back?" Max asked. Kai shrugged. If he managed to disappear into the white snows of Russia, at least he wouldn't have to babysit a certain pair of bladers who were sitting in front of him. Well, one of them at least – Max, too, was returning to his homeland of America in two days, and Kai had been privately dreading having to live with Tyson and his grandfather.

"That's Kai for you," Tyson said grumpily. "Well, don't forget to write."

Kai raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"So this is the end of the Blade-breakers, huh?" Ray mused. "It's been fun, guys."

"Yeah..."

They were getting nostalgic, something that Kai didn't think was possible after only being together for three months or so. He left the room as silently as only he could, and went out to the porch of the dojo. Once there, he sat down, looking up at the cloudy grey sky.

It had been an odd few weeks since the championships. Suddenly remembering where he had been trained for half of his life had been a bit of a shock, but he was mostly over that. Being a celebrity was something he was less certain about, especially as his own battle in the finals hadn't been the most stunning display of his abilities. Tyson and Max were lapping the attention up, whilst Ray just serenely smiled his way through it, as pleased as the others but just slightly better at hiding it.

Black Dranzer had been a bit of a shock too.

Kai sighed. The worst thing about all this was that he had been in his own country. Russia, hiding a beating heart and an occasional tendency to be violent (the Demolition Boys had been the perfect examples of that) under a mask of snow, suited him better than Japan. He should have been at his strongest there, where he was trained and brought up, where the very country itself was supporting him. Instead, the captain had gone down in his own private ship, unable to prevent the attack on Max before the finals, nor the vicious assault Ray had endured at the hands of Bryan, nor the block of ice that had imprisoned Tyson in the finals. It hurt to realise that he had been a more supportive team captain when he'd been planning to steal everyone's bit-beasts than when he was finally their friend.

The worst shock of all, though, had been seeing _him_ in the crowds, watching. Observing. Judging.

The clouds over his head swirled in the freshening wind. The sky would be that colour in Moscow at the moment as the city strode through winter. The colour that promised rain. The colour of old, dirty, end-of-the-year snow that had been churned up and run down by thousands of feet and wheels.

The colour of the hair of a tall man with a strange, frightening smile on his open face, and eyes that could see into your heart. The man who was Russia.


	3. The Man Who Was Russia Part 2

**The Man Who Was Russia - Part 2**

Kai was quite used to the big office by now, but the intimidating presence of the country he represented seemed even more overwhelming today. Russia was wearing exactly the same as he had been wearing on the day he had first given Kai his mission, right down to the pale scarf that was so similar to Kai's own. Resisting the urge to wind his fingers into the soft, white material around his neck, Kai automatically stood to attention, waiting.

"Kai." The Russian voice was as soft as ever. "Why are you are here?"

This was a very unusual way of starting the conversation. Kai straightened up unconsciously.

"I assumed it had something to do with what happened at the World Championships."

"Correct. Would you be able to tell me exactly what happened?" It was a question, but the implication was clear; if Kai didn't report immediately, it would be the worse for him.

"The Blade-breakers won, sir. Boris Balcov was driven into hiding, just as you wanted, and my grandfather stopped interfering in your politics."

"Tell me, Kai, just how many Russian representatives there were in the final battle?"

Kai blinked. He hadn't expected this question. "Four that actually battled in the finals, sir. Five if you include Ian."

"And tell me, just how many of those Russian representatives won their matches?"

All of a sudden, Kai understood, and he felt his blood turn to ice. This was not a meeting to congratulate the Blade-breakers, or his captaincy of them. This was the meeting he had been dreading ever since he had seen that glint of victory in Spencer's eyes. "One, sir," he said softly.

"One in four. The _weakest_ of the four."

"Sir, I wouldn't exactly call Spencer weak..."

But Russia stood up, and Kai had enough self preservation to stop talking. "You were my representative. I let you go to Japan's team because you were so good, because I knew you still stood for me. Then Balcov put forwards his team, and they began representing me too, though I didn't ask them as I did you. And what happened? Tala, who was once your own second-in-command. Bryan, trained from birth to dominate and destroy. And you, my own _chosen_ representative, the boy who captured the Firebird. You all _lost." _Russia's violet eyes were dark with controlled fury, but to Kai's slight relief there was no sign of the homicidal smile on his face just yet. "Tell me, how did you let that happen?"

"Spencer was used to counter me," Kai said as fast as he dared. "He was the only one who could have defeated me. There had to be a Russian loss in that battle, sir. And after all, my team did win in the end."

"Maybe," Russia's eyes were still cold. "I just wonder sometimes why, on the team that won, the Russian was the _only_ one to lose, and why, on the Russian team, the single win was against one of his own countrymen, and also completely worthless because the other two could not manage to defeat the representatives from China and Japan?"

"I apologise, sir. I'll make sure this never happens again. My team will..."

"Too bad." And there it was, the smirk that promised something beyond an adult's revenge, something infinitely more child-like and infinitely more terrifying. "I like things that don't break the first time I send them out. Keep your team, Kai. I don't want it any more."

"Sir?"

"Go away. I do not want you as a representative. You made me very unhappy, and I don't like being unhappy." The smile didn't change for the whole of the speech.

Kai swallowed. "Sir, if I'm no longer your representative... what am I?"

"I do not care. I do not want you any more."

Something suddenly tightened inside Kai's chest. Russia was his home, the place where most of his life had been spent. He had gone through hell here, and won free. He had found Dranzer here, his heart and soul. He had discovered that he actually had _friends_ whilst he had been here. Everything important to him had happened here – and now it was being taken away?

"Sir, I might be Japanese by birth, but my home has always been Russ..."

"No." Russia said, voice as cold as the snow outside the window. "Russian ice may have flowed in your veins, but you are no Russian." He paused. "You failed the trust I had in you, and so you are no longer any good to me. Estonia is seeing to it that your Russian passport is destroyed."

"Sir!" The word choked out of Kai involuntarily.

"And…" The big man stood up and stepped around his big desk with three strides. "I will take this. I do not think you will need it now."

Kai didn't even have time to flinch as the man's black-gloved hand shot out like a striking snake and dug into the snowy material around his throat. With one sharp tug, Russia tore the scarf from Kai's neck, ripping it in half as he did so.

"You may leave now. I do not want to ever hear about you again."

But Kai couldn't move. The scarf had been his since he was eight. It had been his connection to his past, to his country - the country that no longer wanted him. Over the years, as Kai had understood more and more about the responsibility he had been given, the scarf had grown heavier and heavier, until sometimes it felt as if he was carrying the weight of everyone in Russia around his neck. So now... now he felt lighter. But it wasn't a nice feeling, like removing a pair of heavy boots at the end of a long day. Instead it felt like he was no longer connected to the earth and was just going to drift with the wind for the rest of his life, homeless_._ Where could he go now that his own country, which he had stood for ever since that fateful day six years ago, no longer wanted him?

Trying with all his might to remain outwardly calm and to ignore the burning around his neck where his beloved scarf had once been, Kai looked straight into the eyes of the country he had once belonged to. "You said Russian ice flowed in my veins. But there is phoenix fire in my heart, and that is my strength. I don't need you in order to win. I'll win on my own – you'll see."

And with that, he turned smartly on his heel and stormed out of the office before the whirling emotions in his chest could burst through his façade of control.

He had no choice. He would have to go back to Japan – and if he wanted to learn how to be Japanese again, he would have to go back to school.

.

Russia stood still for a long while after Kai left the room, the torn scarf hanging limply from one hand. Finally, he shook his head with an almost confused look in his eyes, and tossed the remnants towards the bin in the corner.

"Lithuania!" he called. "Send him in now!"

The door opened once again to admit Lithuania and a tall red-haired boy with startling blue eyes. The boy halted at the sight of him and saluted.

"At your service, sir."

Russia smiled.

"Hello, Tala."

* * *

_A/N – thank you to Punmaster Extraordinaire for pointing out that I wasn't clear in the first chapter whether Kai was getting Russia's original scarf or not. Kai's scarf is not Russia's, but it's based on it to remind our little phoenix of who he is fighting for. Russia would never remove or deliberately mutilate his own scarf. However, he has no qualms at using the Baltics as his secretaries..._


	4. Integrity

**Integrity**

This was great fun, Russia thought to himself.

It was an absolutely standard world meeting, which meant that absolutely anything could be expected.

Italy had the floor. This also meant that absolutely anything could be expected. In this case, it merely meant that instead of being reliably – or not; this was Italy, after all – informed of the state of the country's finances, the assembled countries were being treated to a long lecture on the correct way to make pasta sauce.

China was the only one taking notes, though France, Romano and Spain kept on casting not-so-covert glances in the direction of the representative for the British Isles, who was stubbornly ignoring them. Germany and Japan, it seemed, had heard this particular lecture before, and were taking the opportunity to organise their own notes. America, on the other hand, sitting two seats away from Russia, seemed openly fascinated that someone would go into such depth of concern over a condiment. He turned to the bigger, smiling country - probably to ask something silly like whether he thought boiled cabbage would go better with pasta sauce or ketchup – and looked surprised to find someone sitting between them.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Canada." the other country sighed resignedly.

"Oh. Get Russia for me, would you?"

Switzerland, the host, stood up. "Time's up," he ordered, and Italy halted mid-flow, looking very disappointed.

"But I haven't told them about the pasta yet!"

Switzerland just shook his head. "Time's up," he repeated. "Germany, you're next."

The tall, blonde country got to his feet, and Russia decided that he'd heard enough. After all, Germany's lectures were far less interesting than the ones about pasta, as they were always about money or trade imports and exports, and it was his little Baltics who were so good at that. So he settled back into his seat, wondering whether if he stared at Italy for long enough, the smaller nation would make _him_ some pasta.

That was when it came out of the blue, completely out of the blue, a pain like nothing he had ever felt before ripping through his chest. It felt... it felt like someone was attacking his heart!

He swiftly scanned the faces of the countries sitting around the table to see which of the cowards were stupid enough to try attacking him when he wasn't in his own land, but none of them seemed to have felt anything amiss. His people had to be fighting back in outrage at such a horrific attack! That was what they had always done; resist the invaders. Surely they had managed to hurt the enemy enough for that country to react?

Then the pain suddenly stopped, almost as quickly as it had come. There was just a lingering ache, and a strange emptiness that made him wonder what part of him had been torn away. Still, none of the other countries reacted. There was something badly wrong here, and he was going to find out what it was.

For the rest of the meeting, he concentrated on the faces of the other countries around him, waiting for a momentary flash of pain or a look of smug satisfaction that would identify the guilty party. To his continued frustration, none of them reacted, all apparently engrossed in the discussions. He had to wait until the meeting collapsed into the usual argumentative chaos (begun, as always, by Britain and France) before he could leave the room and contact his government officials. Naturally, it was Lithuania who answered the phone.

"Who attacked?" he demanded. "Who attacked, and where, and how much damage?"

There was a shocked silence on the other end of the phone. "No...no-one's attacked, sir," Lithuania stuttered. "Nothing's happened here at all."

"Lithuania, I will not be happy if you are lying. Tell me."

"I'm not lying!" The other nation's voice squeaked slightly in panic. "Nothing's happened! There's been no news of attacks or bombings or anything!"

Russia slammed the phone down rather more forcefully than he'd meant to. After all, Lithuania was just doing his job, however badly. Now, though, he was going to have to interrogate the others to find out just who had authorised a sneak attack on his heart-city, his Moscow.

He let himself back into the main room and his eyes lit on Italy first. No, there was no way that he would have done anything, not without Germany, and Germany was unusually stubborn when it came to getting answers out of him, so maybe he wouldn't be the best one to start with. Britain he dismissed out of hand – he was far too hung up on protocol and warnings to attack in secret like that. America was the same, though because he wanted to be fair rather than because he always followed the correct procedures. Silly man. France? He was sneaky enough, certainly, but he'd have been far more smug if he had succeeded, visibly so.

Just then, Japan squeezed back into the room behind him, dodging around his larger neighbour. His face was unusually grim. Could this be the culprit? Russia doubted it, but he was keeping all his remaining options open.

"What is wrong, Japan?" He used his sunniest smile, and as expected, the other nation jumped and looked ever so slightly alarmed.

"Oh, it is nothing," he said. "My team is just losing, that is all."

"The other side is fighting better than expected?" Russia kept his smile in place, suddenly happy in the knowledge that he'd found the guilty one. Now he just had to get him to admit that guilt...

"My team fought as well as they could," Japan replied. "Both of them. But now they are losing heart, because their opponents have taken something very precious from them."

Russia's smile began to slip. This didn't sound quite right. "What happened?"

Japan sighed. "It is my Blade-breakers. They are fighting in the World Championships, and the other team have taken Kai's bit-beast. They have stolen his phoenix."

_The Blade-breakers?_ _Kai? _Russia hadn't expected to hear those names again, especially the second. "Are you sure?"

"I have just called. My reporter said that Kai is very distressed and will not speak to his team. He seems heart-broken. I did not feel the loss, which is very strange. I wonder why?"

_Heart-broken?_

Russia's mind jumped back to the ripping, tearing pain in his chest, which he had thought was his capital being attacked. But could it have been different? Could... no, that was impossible. He had disowned the boy. He was no Russian.

But still... however impossible it might seem, could it be? Could it be that, even after the country he had once represented proudly turned on him and disowned him, that Kai still considered himself to belong to Russia?

He had once told Kai that Russian ice flowed in his veins. Kai's fierce response was still burned into his memory.

"_But there is phoenix fire in my heart, and that is my strength."_

If Kai's strength was his phoenix, what did he have left now?

Russian ice.

The boy still thought he was a Russian. The boy was still _representing_ Russia, taking with him all of the hopes of his people, and they had just been hopelessly crushed. The thousands of children in Russia who loved blading and had been looking forward so eagerly to seeing one of their own heading into the finals must be heartbroken right now.

Well, at least that explained the pain.

It just didn't explain the sudden surge of pride.

* * *

_A/N - Yay! I got to introduce a couple more Hetalia nations... hopefully they'll appear again soon. And please tell me if they were out of character; Russia's POV in particular is really hard to write. If you hadn't guessed, this is set just at the end of V-Force, when Zeo has stolen Dranzer._


	5. In A Place With No Shadows

**In A Place With No Shadows**

He wasn't certain how long he'd been walking. He'd sort of lost track of time since he lost his beautiful firebird, as if every clock he knew was broken, even the constantly-running one in his chest. All he knew was that he hadn't wanted to stay near the Blade-breakers, not when he'd let them all down so badly. Even Hilary had noticed it. She'd called him – what was it again? Oh yes.

"_I never knew you were such a cold-hearted person."_

Huh. Seemed she didn't know him at all if she thought he had actually been nice. It had all been an act, that being-friendly-to-everyone thing. Giving extra advice. _Talking. _It seemed to be something that people in warmer countries did, and so he'd done it to fit in, because that was all he had any more.

In a place as cold as Moscow, in the dark stone walls of the Abbey, all your energy went towards two things; blading and keeping warm enough to live. Talking was a waste of time and heat.

Kai suddenly wished that he could be back in Russia. Not back in the Abbey, no way, but at least to be in a place that understood him when he snapped and growled, and would snap right back instead of looking hurt or angry like Tyson, Ray and Max did.

He hated to admit it, but ever since he had stepped inside the walls of the Abbey again, he had felt like he was home there, in Russia, amongst the vastness and the snow and the people hating each other quietly. And now, stuck in Japan where even the winter was sometimes warmer than the Russian summer, he just felt choked.

He wanted to go home. But home didn't want him.

Drawing to a halt, Kai looked around and realised he was in a part of the city he'd only seen a couple of times before, back when he'd ruled the Blade Sharks. He'd heard a rumour that another gang had been hunting for strong blades, and had come to challenge them. It turned out they were little more than parts-hunters, like those two-bit crooks King and Queen (at least they were out of the championships, thanks to Tyson and Max – he couldn't bear the thought of them lifting the trophy) and had barely been worth the time he'd taken to walk there.

Now, though, the park was almost empty. There was a man walking a small dog on the other side, and two children kicking a ball around in the middle of the central field. But the sole blading dish set up in the middle of the playground was full of dead, decaying leaves.

Kai slumped onto one of the wooden benches at the side of the path, having neither the energy nor the will to keep walking. What a failure of a blader he was. He couldn't even protect the one thing he had sworn to never lose again.

Beautiful, beloved Dranzer. Would the firebird even forgive him this time?

He crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned back against the back of the wooden bench, closing his eyes. The sun had dipped behind a cloud, and everything was shadowless and dim.

"So here you are, Kai."

The voice was familiar, but he still only just managed to prevent himself from scrambling to his feet in a panic. For one thing, he had never expected to hear it again. For another, it sent a renewed wave of – oh, alright – _homesickness _through him, and for a second his vision whitened out to a world of snow and ice.

"Y-you!" he stammered as the big man took a seat at the other end of the bench and leaned back in a position very like Kai's own had been only seconds before.

"Me," said Russia happily, and gave Kai a beaming smile that only served to disturb him more. "Hello!"

Kai didn't say anything. For one thing, he couldn't think what on earth he _could_ say to this sudden and deeply unexpected appearance. For another, his brain had started working in Japanese over the past year, and therefore was having to scramble to translate the Russian that Kai was now hearing. Russia ignored his lack of response, though, and carried on.

"You are strange, Kai," he said, fixing his eyes on the far side of the park. "I have never known one like you. It is very weird." He didn't seem to be expecting an answer, and the two sat in a strange, uncomfortable silence for several minutes before Kai managed to speak.

"What do you want with me?"

The big man looked almost surprised that Kai was still there. "Perhaps it is me who should be asking that."

Wrong-footed and utterly confused, Kai could only gape at him. What did _he_ want from _Russia?_

A flood of thoughts immediately presented themselves: stop Zeo, stop Zagart, find Boris because I know he's still alive, where's my grandfather, can I come back, can I come _home...?_ But none of them were quite right any more. Oh, he wanted to go back to Russia, that was indisputable. That, however, would never be enough if all he was doing was living there.

For the past year, he had tried with all his might to learn how to be Japanese, forcing himself to react as politely as possible to everyone, offering his help vocally more often than not, trying to understand what the others saw in friendship, and struggling to hide his usual arrogance behind a façade of assistance. It hadn't worked. The harder he had tried, the further from being Japanese he had felt, and the more he learned to care about things, the more he lost.

What did he want from Russia?

"I don't know, sir," he answered at last, and at least he was being honest about that, even though Russia's smile was making him think that not knowing the answer meant he was three seconds away from not living to learn it.

If there was one thing he knew about the nation he had once represented, though, it was that nothing was ever predictable. "Good," Russia said. "Because I know." He put his hand into his pocket and pulled something out. "I think it is time for you to have this back, Kai."

It was the scarf – and yet it wasn't. This one was far longer, and pure white like the first-fall of snow that Kai missed so deeply. He knew without needing to put it on that it would be long enough to trail behind him in the twin-tails that it had the very first time that Russia had given it to him, before he had cut it.

"S-sir?"

Russia just reached out and pressed the soft package into his hands. "When you have finished fighting this battle for Japan, it will make me happy to see you fight for me again."

Kai felt the scarf, strangely cold in his hands, and weighing far more than it should do. "I can't."

"What?" Russia's smile never faltered, and Kai suddenly remembered what it was that made this man so terrifying. But he ploughed on nevertheless.

"I don't have my Dranzer any more. There's no way that I can win against the others without a bit-beast."

For a very long moment, Russia was silent. Finally, he said "You want to fight Tyson, da? On the world stage, with everyone watching?"

"Yes," Kai breathed, almost not daring to admit it. It was tantamount to betraying his own team, and he didn't want to think about that, not after he'd done it so many times before. But he couldn't deny that ever since the moment he'd met the bearer of the blue dragon, he had valued their battles far higher than those against any other. Russia's smile softened to an almost human look.

"You told me one time that you had phoenix fire in your heart, and Russian ice in your veins. Perhaps you may find now that the ice will keep your heart strong until your fire-bird is reborn."

Kai's fingers curled around the material in his hands. "Even if Dranzer comes back, what if I lose again? You said you didn't want things that break after you've only had them a short while."

Russia shrugged, smiling. "I had not realised. It is simple really. You are not a nation; you are only a human, and a young one at that. It was silly to think that you could carry all of the weight and hopes of a big nation like me, however strong you are."

"So you're saying that no matter what happens, in the end it'll be too much?"

"Yes." Russia looked delighted that Kai had caught on so fast. "But when it is too much for Kai, perhaps Russia can strengthen him. I know you now, Kai. There is Russian ice in your veins and phoenix fire in your heart. You will not disappoint me."

Kai let his eyes drift away from the smile and over to the bey-dish in the middle of the grass. The leaves filling it were the colour of the earth, and the sky overhead was still the same dull grey. But the sun had found a thinner cloud to shine through, and stretching in front of him was his shadow on the bench, once again defining him.

When he looked around, Russia was gone. But the scarf was still in his hands, as heavy as the clouds that promise snowfall, and as warm as the fire-bird now imprisoned in Zeo's blade, once again defining him as Russia's representative before the world.


	6. Fire and Ice

_Phew, it's been ages since I updated this! No, I haven't forgotten about the story – I just wanted to get "To Learn Their Ways" finished first (I prefer concentrating on only one story at a time, not that I'm very good at that...)_

_Thought that I should also explain here why I'm not trying to replicate Russia's accent/wording from the anime – he is speaking in Russian, so he has perfect fluency. If there is a situation where he needs to speak in English, I'll do my best to imitate the accent to separate them._

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Fire and Ice**

"Let it _rip!"_

"Go Wolborg!"

The normal sounds of battle crashed around the room as the two blades circled, their owners putting every ounce of concentration into their fight. The two non-combatants were also watching avidly, checking for any hints of damage to either blade. Maybe that was why they didn't notice at first when the big doors to the inside stadium creaked open to allow a rush of cold air in.

"Yo! Tala! We got visitors." Spencer was the first to look up and see the figures in the doorway, and Russia smiled to himself. He liked Spencer – the young man was strong and graceful, with a certain air to him that reminded Russia of... well, of himself. But that wasn't who he was here to see. Nor was he here to see grey-haired, falcon-fierce Bryan, in whom the ancient blood-deep rage of his people still lurked.

The flame-haired boy on the far side of the dish called his blade back to his hand and dipped his head to greet his nation. His strange, ice-burning eyes never left Russia's face, wariness written in every line of his body. Tala had never liked Russia much, though he had certainly demonstrated his loyalty to his country several times over. However, Russia wasn't here to see his little ice-wolf either.

Kai's eyes blazed with an old, familiar light as his phoenix blade swirled up the side of the dish to cling to the edge just beneath his feet. It had been several months since Russia had last seen the young man who had been his representative, and he had been very pleased indeed when Kai had filed his request to join the Blitzkrieg Boys. He had changed his usual outfit again, but the long white scarf remained, fluttering in the settling air like a pair of wings coming to rest.

"So, here you are," Russia announced, looking around at his four handsome boys, all of them well worthy of their titles as his representatives. Of course, only Kai and Tala were his _true_ representatives, both of them having displayed extraordinary power and prowess in their respective preliminary contests. "I have somebody for you to meet."

Tala's icy eyes were already fixed on Russia's companion. Good. He had always been a sharp one, that Tala. That was why Russia had chosen him when Kai had failed him that time. Tala had never quite forgiven Kai or Russia for making him the second choice once Kai had returned, not that he would ever allow himself to say as much out loud.

"This is a... an acquaintance of mine," Russia said, though he knew he wasn't choosing exactly the right word. "He has come to help you train."

Tala's chin jerked up. "We have our own methods here," he informed his nation frostily. "Thank you, but we're the bladers here."

"I think you will want my training." The other, taller, dark-cloaked visitor's voice was as deep as it was quiet. "In order to win, you will need every advantage your home can give you." His strange eyes were fixed on Tala. "You, boy - I can teach you an attack that will freeze your opponent in their tracks, as if their blood had turned to ice. There is no known defence against it."

He had caught Tala's attention, and part of Russia felt a fleeting pang of sorrow for his wolf-eyed child. Was Tala really ready for such a harsh trainer when Russia himself still struggled against him?

"No known defence?" Tala asked cautiously. "No weaknesses?"

"I didn't say that. There is always a price for great power. I can lend you mine, child of ice."

But it was Kai who stepped up first, Kai the fire-bird who had been imprisoned in the golden cage of the Blade-breakers for too long. Only with the wolf at his side could he ever reach the heights he was meant to, Russia knew that. But still, he was so young... and representative or not, he was human, he was _frail._

"I'll do it," he said, voice clear as his fists clenched at his sides. "I'll beat Tyson no matter what it takes."

Ah yes, Tyson. Once Dranzer had been returned to Kai by the efforts of that boy, Kai's only thought had been of beating him. Russia had already seen him out practising at all hours of the night in order to win against him and restore the World Championship title to Russia. Some days, Russia wasn't certain what Kai wanted more – to beat Tyson or to prove his worth as one of the best members of the Russian team to ever grace the world stage. Regardless, he would bring honour to the vast country he could now call home.

That was one of the reasons why he had called his current companion to accompany him to the training facility, knowing that the fire-bird and ice-wolf of legend would never shy away from the harshest training in order to prove that they were as powerful and unstoppable as the onslaught of winter.

"I don't care what it costs me," Kai was continuing. "I can complete your training. Just watch me." Russia's companion raised one eyebrow, but didn't make any further comment.

"What's your name?" Bryan asked, sprawled across the chairs by the analysis station, the very image of arrogance and ability. But all the arrogance in the world couldn't affect the tall man whom Russia knew so well and yet still stood wary of.

"Not many have seen me," the man answered, his voice cold and dark like a winter's night. "But you... you may call me General Winter."

Kai's eyes snapped to meet those of Russia himself, full of momentary wariness followed by a flaming hope. "Sir."

It wasn't clear whether he was speaking to Russia or Winter, but that didn't really matter. Kai had phoenix-fire in his heart and Russian ice in his veins. When the cold was too great, the fire would save him. When the fire burned low, the ice would keep him standing strong. Tala was the same, though in him the flames burned as cold as the ice.

If anyone could survive the training that General Winter offered, it would be Kai and Tala, the fire and the ice of Russia's representatives.


	7. Russian Roulette

_After this, updates shouldbe more regular - this was the last completely unwritten chapter, and the rest are at least half-done. I did, however, just notice that it's been just over a year since I uploaded chapter 4, so managing three chapters in over a year is, frankly, pretty awful. I will try to finish the rest very soon._

* * *

**Chapter 7 – Russian Roulette**

How?

That was the only question in his mind. After all his training, all his effort, every sleeping and waking moment drawing towards this point, how could he have lost?

The sensible part of his mind, the bit that calmly analysed things and normally kept him from panicking in battles that were going against him, was telling him that his opponent had arrived at the dish after a tag-team battle and a nap, whilst he and his fiery phoenix had arrived breathless and battle-worn from fighting the wind and the wave of Spencer and Bryan. But that didn't matter to the rest of Kai's mind, which was still firmly convinced that after everything he had been through there should have been something more for him than a cracked blade and a crowd running past him to congratulate the winner.

He raised his head to scan the stands for those who had remained where they were, knowing somehow just where to look to meet those strange, purple eyes so like his own. Russia didn't even move to acknowledge his losing representative. Kai couldn't read his expression at all, but he had known Russia for long enough now to have some idea of what would be heading his way once he left the stadium.

_The scarf._ He had fought with it for so long now that he had once again become used to its weight around his shoulders. Would it be taken from him again? He didn't think he could bear the loss now. Those long white tails defined him more than anything else he could think of, both to the outer world as a member of the Russian team and to himself as Russia's true representative.

Wait – where _was_ his scarf? He had... he had taken it off! Against Tyson, he had chosen to remove it and the terrible, pressing weight it carried – and had therefore removed the protection of Russia himself. Was _that_ why he had lost?

Shaking his head in a vain attempt to force his tumbling thoughts into some sort of order, Kai worked his way through the crowds to where his precious white scarf lay on the floor where he had thrown it. Now he would have to start again from the beginning. If he wanted to keep his scarf, he would have to prove to Russia that he was strong enough to defeat Tyson, and soon. He needed training, he needed a stronger blade, and he needed an opportunity to battle.

.

This wasn't quite what he meant, but it would have to do. Yes, he was back under the creepy stare of that Boris character he'd thought that he'd long since relegated to the past, but as long as Tyson would end up on the other side of the dish, it would be fine. It was a shame about Tala. He'd helped Kai get his desire once again, but doing so had hurt him. Hiro had claimed he was being well looked after in a nearby hospital, but Kai didn't trust Hiro as far as he could throw him from the top of BEGA Tower (which he had secretly been wanting to do for a very long time).

He couldn't exactly complain about the training offered by BEGA, and Garland wasn't that bad once you got used to him.

"Hey." Speak of the devil. Garland had materialised behind him, long silver hair tied back in its usual neat ponytail. He got straight to the point, as usual. "You've seen the line-up for the selection battle, right?"

"Of course. We're in different blocks, so I'll see you on the team bench, as I won't have a chance to defeat you."

Garland looked slightly puzzled. "Kai, I'm being serious. Have you seen who else is in your block?"

This merited only a roll of the eyes. "I checked the rankings. The only people worth my time are in other blocks. The nearest to my rank in my block was 17."

To his surprise, though, Garland shook his head. "Kai, I think you should come to that meeting this afternoon. You... I mean, the rankings aren't everything."

That made Kai pause. For Garland to say that meant a lot. The slender young man was the top professional blader by rank in the whole of BEGA, which as far as he was concerned meant that he was upholding both his own dreams and his family honour. As far as Kai was concerned he was the only person worth beating in BEGA Tower, and he actually relished their battles. There was something of a dance to them, an evenness to their fight that wasn't about straining to overcome the other like it was with Tyson. Each strike and subsequent block was simply an acknowledgement of the other man's strength, a compliment and honour both given and received with pride.

"What do you mean, Garland? Talk sense."

For a long moment, Garland didn't say anything. Then, rather cautiously, he asked "Kai, you know that Brooklyn doesn't really have an official ranking in BEGA because he's never fought in an accredited match?"

"What has that got to..." Wait... Kai's mind was quick to pick up the hidden information in the back of Garland's words. Brooklyn was in his block? To be honest, he hadn't even noticed. Logic dictated that the weakest bladers – the ones with the lowest ranking – would knock each other out until the higher ones reached him, as fifth.

But Brooklyn?

Kai had seen him a few times before, and had heard stories about him from Garland and the ever-enthusiastic Mystel. Brooklyn was different. Brooklyn was... he was like a black hole that drew everything towards him – attention, power, bladers, sometimes even the very air itself it seemed – and gave nothing back. Kai had decided to keep an eye on him just in case, because things that Kai ignored or forgot about had an unnerving habit of sneaking up on him and sitting down on park benches beside him before presenting him with a brand new scarf...

The scarf.

Kai wound his fingers surreptitiously through the cloth. If he wanted to face Tyson again and keep the fine material safely around his neck where it belonged, he would just have to defeat Brooklyn first. No big deal. He was Kai Hiwatari, wasn't he?

.

He was Kai Hiwatari, and he was _losing._

He hadn't been pushed back this badly since the débâcle against Spencer. Even last year's semi-final against Zeo had been more even than this. Nothing he tried made any difference. His strongest attack was thrown back at him like a ball against a mirror, a punch in the stomach for one who had always prided himself on the individuality of his training and his techniques.

What could he do?

The scarf was so heavy on his shoulders that it was forcing him down. Yes, in that slightly hunched position he looked more intimidating, like a predator ready to pounce, but in reality it drained his strength. He had never felt the weight of it so much as he did then, not against Ray or Tyson even.

Protection of Russia? Russia wasn't here, was he? The very thought that the reason for his defeat could have been something as simple as removing a scarf was laughable. He had battled for Russia for so long and what did he have to show for it? Three defeats in the finals or semi-finals of World Championships he had sworn to win, a name once proud and full of grace and power now dragged through the mud behind the glory of Tyson Granger, and a lingering sense of disappointment that, no matter how hard he tried, he could never be the blader that Russia wanted.

So why should he keep trying to be the Champion of Russia? One champion already lay unconscious in hospital for the sake of his service to his country. Why couldn't he battle as _Kai_ for once in his life?

He didn't need Russia. The only thing his country had ever given him was the impossible weight of responsibility and representation hanging around his neck like a mill-stone in the form of soft, white material. He didn't need Russia, and Russia didn't need him.

The scarf tugged at his hair with tiny hands of thread as he ripped it off over his head, casting it to one side. Instantly his heart was lighter, released from its limitations and responsibilities. _Now_ he could do anything he wanted. _Now_ he could be free, just as he had fought Ray and Tyson in those battles he could honestly be proud of. _Now _he could show Brooklyn what he had really come up against.

The fire welled up in his heart, born from a phoenix that melted away the ice in his blood. He called it from within, sent it spiralling up into his blade and out to crush that flame-haired man of darkness on the far side of the dish.

"_Blazing Gig Tempest, attack!"_

It was perfect, even more perfect than the time he had first revealed it to Ray. There was no defence against the darts of fire that slammed down around the dish, and not even the blade that had spent and entire tournament dodging could escape from the rain of feathers. It was pinned, trapped, left without a single exit. This was his victory, full of flame and light that blazed like the sun, his power that was his own to use, no-one else's. This was the heart of himself, of Kai Hiwatari, the master of the Phoenix bey.

Brooklyn smiled and closed his eyes, and the sun was plunged into eclipse.


End file.
